A Brief Hesitation
by Scraggles
Summary: A set-up by Fang results in a confrontation of sorts between Lightning and Vanille. Lanille fluff.


A little something I scrabbled on almost no prompt - practically a drabble. Hope you like.

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Here Lightning stood before her, flustered in a way that strangely suited her form as she swayed in the dying sunlight of a seasonably early dusk. Her glassy eyes swam with reflections that Vanille knew that she herself was beaming back to the woman. It was as if the redhead were looking into a mirror, one that showed her nervous insecurities. Vanille touched a finger to her lips, which were still wet from the rough press of Lightning's own against them not more than a moment ago.

Seconds before, she had been sitting at the communal bed roll in their camp at Vallis Media, patching a tear in Hope's beloved scarf, which had belonged to his mother; the article lay in a rumpled heap at her feet, forgotten. The look in Lightning's eyes now made Vanille shiver. She watched an awkward lump slide down the woman's throat as they both debated speaking.

Vanille was first to break the silence. "Light.. ning?" The flutters in her stomach warned that she was dangerously close to fainting. Of course there had always been the light-headed tingles when Lightning looked at her like this, though the woman seldom directed anything at her other than a casual glance. If they hadn't been alone, she would have swallowed the butterflies and moved on, her reasoning being that there were obligations to Sazh, Hope, _Fang_, Snow, and Lightning herself to tend to, and none of them pertained to sating the frightful flushing heat that started in her chest when she so much as thought of the woman. The only words to come to her lips were "What's the meaning of this?" It sounded childish and feeble, as unsurprising as that was.

The response was a gasp. Lightning turned her face away in shame, hiding her flush against the collar of her GC jacket. "I – don't ask me to explain. I just.. shouldn't have done that." She shook her head, about to retreat; Vanille's hand stilled the woman – a thumb brushed across the cheek.

"No, Lightning," the girl cooed, "That's not what I meant." She punctuated the words with another soft stroke, half expecting the soldier to pull away, which she did - to an extent.

Gently, Lightning curled her gloved fingers around Vanille's hand and softly lifted it away. Her cloudy eyes implored, _"Then what did you mean?"_

Vanille exhaled softly, gathering herself. Lightning's fingers still encircled her own tentatively, squeezing intermittently. Finally, the redhead heaved in a breath. "What I wanted to say was"-she looked over the woman's shoulder to make sure that no one was around-"Why are you scared? As scared as I am, I mean."

"Scared?" The pink haired woman nearly scoffed, dropping the girl's shaky appendage. "I wouldn't say that, per se," Lightning huffed, "More like petrified, and maybe a little annoyed." She sighed.

"Why?" Now Vanille was curious. She was tempted to lick her lips expectantly, as she often did when her body felt alive with such electricity, but the freshly glossed chill brought on by a sudden gust of wind warded her away from doing so.

"That Fang set me up for this – the whole thing."

Vanille blinked, watching the soldier kick at the dirt half-heartedly in her scrounging for words. It was a messy affair, only resulting in a few more scuff marks to the woman's footwear. She remembered that, when they'd met, those boots had been absolutely _pristine._ Looking at them now, it was clear that their only appeal was pure practicality, but that was to be expected; even from what Vanille had seen, they'd taken some substantial hits. Between Lightning's current behavior and utilitarian personality, she concluded that the soldier just didn't care anymore.

After a long silence, the pinkette let out a huff. "I'd really rather you forget I mentioned it."

Vanille stumbled to remember what they'd been talking about, then smirked. _A setup! _She mentally squealed, the realization that _that _was what Fang had been up to when she'd offered to show Lightning around Paddra, or rather, what was left of it, dawning on her; she was giddy, deviously enough that she could only imagine the lengths Fang'd gone to for her benefit, and in that moment, she decided she couldn't bear to look at that kicked-puppy expression Lightning put on. So, without a prior word of response, she tip-toed up and – very gently – ghosted a kiss into the corner of her mouth, whispering, "Don't count on it."

To her credit, Lightning smiled the most beautiful, genuine smile she'd ever seen, and they laughed.


End file.
